


devils' dance

by ginandfrolic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Blood, Blow Jobs, Boba Fett Being a Jerk, Clothed Sex, Come Marking, Dirty Talk, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Facials, No Aftercare, No Plot/Plotless, Non-Consensual Touching, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Second Person, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Jabba's Palace (Star Wars), Praise Kink, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Slavery, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Swearing, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, boba fett has big dick energy, but he also has a big dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29492961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginandfrolic/pseuds/ginandfrolic
Summary: Dear Reader, you have been captured and offered to Boba Fett to fulfill his needs...Spoiler warning: This reader-insert takes place after The Mandalorian Season 2. I’ve only alluded to what happens after the newest season, since this fic doesn't have a strict plot, but I just wanted to make everyone aware.Also, please make sure to take a look at the tags. They are there for your protection if you aren't comfortable with the subject matter. Thisisa rape/non-con fic, though moreso in the beginning than later on, and touches on elements of psychological distress - it's a darkfic, so please read at your own discretion.
Relationships: Boba Fett & Reader, Boba Fett & You, Boba Fett/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone,
> 
> I had a moment of panic and deleted this entire work because I was mentally spiraling.
> 
> I'm fine now, thanks to a fellow writer and AO3 user - you know who you are! - and decided to re-upload it.
> 
> I crashed and burned out pretty hard, and while don't have the means to abandon this work, I'm not 100% certain of how often I will be updating this fic.
> 
> Thank you everyone that spent their precious time reading this fic when it was previously published - I appreciate every one of you so much. <3

“Bring in the subjects.”

An armor-clad bounty hunter sat at the dais, his predatory gaze sinking into the figures of female Humans who were ushered single-file into this room of stale air. This room – reminiscent of a past that has long since been reinvented – felt dusty, creepy, venomous. You felt someone untying the knot of fabric at the back of your head, liberating you of the blindfold that stamped out your vision for the past day. Or two. You couldn’t be certain.

Light, though dim as it was, seared through your senses and you winced before blinking madly to readjust to your surroundings. You knew you weren’t a solitary captive – you and roughly three others were held in a chamber, all blindfolded, all shackled, all cuffed. As your eyes darted around the room, your companions – if you could call them that – had the same look of worry upon their young faces, quietly murmuring amongst each other.

“Where are we?” one whispered.

“I’m scared,” said another.

The armored man stood from his throne and descended the dais, slowly approaching each and one of you. With every step, the rattle of his armor reverberated through this suddenly noiseless palace. With every step forward, you felt your heart beating tightly in your throat. Every one of you seemingly sucked all the air out of the room, with what felt like the last breath of life.

The closer he got, the better look you got at the hunter. The armor had etchings of a generation past; you couldn’t imagine the story behind every scuff where you could somewhat make out the virgin metal beneath the shades of jade, and a red color akin to dried blood.

The closer he got, the better look he got at all of you. He was quietly taking inventory – why, you weren’t exactly sure, though you had a hunch that made your stomach curdle. You realized the women – girls, you now noticed – with you were either too young, naïve, or both to have the same intuition as yours.

You were there for entertainment.

Entertainment would be putting it in an optimistic light.

The hunter reached the end of the line, which ended with you. You did not dare blink when he passed you, staring at his concealing helmet with volition to survive whatever strange day this is, your head following him as he circled his prey. He returned to the first girl, who was the furthest left of you, and who also appeared to be the youngest. Maybe eleven, twelve years old or so. She quaked in her own skin, too frightened to even look at the hunter who quickly snatched her trembling jaw with a crushing grasp. He turned her head left and right with his glove; scrutinizing her pliant, soft face through the dark visor of his helm, before giving her slack and stepping backward.

“Too young,” his voice rumbled through the vocoder of his helm.

“Well, Boba … they’re what we found,” sighed a feminine voice behind you. In your anxiety-driven paralysis, you had forgotten that someone else here had undone all of your blindfolds. When you turned your head, you saw the voice’s owner – a woman about a decade your senior – embellished with a raven-colored braid, a supple black set of armor, and a beautiful face with cleverness written in her eyes. She exuded power and strength, even in her slender, seemingly unthreatening frame.

Boba had moved onto the second girl, who appeared older than the first, but still younger than yourself. He circled around her, studying her figure from top to bottom, twirling her hair in his glove and then grasping it tightly to her scalp. The hunter sent a swift thwack of his large hand to her buttock. She cried out in pain and her body crumpled, bringing her to her knees.

“Get up,” he demanded, jabbing his boot into her leg.

The third girl who was right next to you was quickly reduced to tears after her… examination. You couldn’t bear to watch. She wore a rosy brand upon her cheek – the result of being backhanded after begging him to stop.

It turns out you were right. This was some sick trial. The way he wrangled and twisted arms and hair, he seemed to be testing everyone’s threshold … for what, pain? If the first girl was “too young” … and for what, you were in denial – then was he looking for someone to succumb to his every will? The color drained from your face as you thought about the way he had handled the others, the way only a rough lover would do behind closed doors. It dawned on you.

But you steeled your gaze and focused straight ahead as you knew he was coming for you next. This would not be the day you let fear bleed on your face, though something deep inside told you this man could probably smell it on you anyway. When Boba approached you, you lengthened your spine as tall as you could and squared your shoulders. The obsidian visor of his helmet seemed to burn a hole through you with its inky, enigmatic void.

The silence in the room was killing you slowly. Get it over with.

His hand shot out, fast as lightning, and tore the material at the front of your dress nearly to the navel. While some others gasped, one began crying. But you clenched your jaw and stilled your thoughts, never once breaking eye contact. You had only hoped he couldn’t hear your heart crashing wildly against your ribcage.

He hummed to himself in amusement, seeming pleased, looking at the new rift he had created in your garment. The swell of your chest was more visible now, nipples hardening to the sudden exposure of air. He hooked his finger at the tear, the threads snapping as he slowly pulled downwards. Your shoulders shifted; bringing your arms forward in a futile attempt to cover your breasts that were close to swinging out of the dress. But he snaked his way in – his large hand dwarfing your waist – and cupped the underside of your left breast. Surely, he could feel your heartbeat now, like a hummingbird trapped inside a cage.

Under his helmet, the corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk; his gaze unfocused as he brushed a gloved thumb over your soft flesh before pulling away.

“Take this one to my room.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba Fett gets his way. 😈

Immediately, you stumbled on the shackles as you were roughly escorted out of the throne room and up a small flight of stairs through a nearby corridor. The woman, whose name you learned was Fennec, unlocked and removed the shackles at your feet. The cuffs on your wrists remained; your arms still locked in the same position behind your back. Boba silently stalked a few strides behind the two of you, and you were led into a dusty room through a wooden door. Fennec made her departure, giving Boba a quick nod on her way out.

The moment the door shut behind you, you whipped around to face Boba and exclaimed, “What are you doing to them?” You gestured with your head in the direction of the stairs since your hands were bound. If you were here to suffer some form of punishment or torture, so be it, so long as the others downstairs could be spared.

“Nothing,” he replied shortly. Although you didn’t trust this man, the lack of hesitation in his response seemed to yield the truth.

“Nothing?” you parroted in disbelief. “Didn’t seem like nothing down there.”

“Give me attitude, kid. I dare you,” he growled, closing the distance between you two and shoving a finger in your sternum. His visor was in your face; the smell of metal and musk flooding your senses.

“Don’t call me kid,” you spat back, undaunted by his challenge.

He considered you a moment. “Right,” he took a step back and leaned against the door, arms crossed, gazing at you through his helm. Though you could not imagine his face, you had this unsettling intuition that he was staring at the tattered, plunging neckline of your dress. “You got a name?”

Reluctantly, you gave him your name – you wanted to ask why, suspicious of divulging any personal information to him – but you got the feeling that pissing off this bounty hunter was not in your best interest. You shuffled around nervously instead, staring at your feet now. “Just tell me why I’m here,” you said quietly.

“Been a long time since my last good fuck,” he stated outright, taking note of how you clenched your fists in response.

“So, you had women shepherded in here like animals?”

“I’d hardly call the others women. Too young. It’s why I picked you. Don’t need crying toddlers in my quarters,” he replied gruffly.

“You’re disgusting,” you gritted. “Then what? I get to go home?” you added wryly; you found it highly unlikely you’d get off the hook that easily, but hey, why miss an opportunity to ask? Boba only offered the faintest of a chuckle in response. He approached you again slowly, his darkened visor burning a hole through your chest as your stomach became sickly effervescent with every step he took.

“Depends.”

He reached out his arm towards you, a gloved hand sifting through your hair. The tips of each finger traced your scalp with a deviously light touch, and you wished you could quell the goosebumps that cascaded down your skin. It was strangely comforting, despite knowing your defenseless position here as a captive, and your eyelids betrayed you when they shut at the calming sensation of his fingers combing through your hair. You wanted so badly to will away the shudder that crept to your shoulders, refusing to give in, refusing to look so vulnerable, to refuse your fate as his prey – though in the back of your mind, you wondered how it’d feel without leather intercepting his touch…

His hand brushed down your nape; fingers dancing along the fragile skin on the circumference of your neck, and he dipped them in the space between your collar bones. A bead of sweat collected at your temple; a staggered breath escaped your nostrils while you desperately tried to dispel any sign of forfeit in front of your hunter.

He splayed his hand across the front of your neck, and his fingers slowly constricted your throat. Your eyes shot open and you damned yourself for letting your guard down. Too shocked for words, you began to plead with your eyes for an answer through his darkened visor. A silent panic welled in your chest as your breath collapsed; head feeling faint.

“You gonna listen to me?” he asked in a rough whisper to your face, his battered helm now completely obscuring your view. You swallowed hard against his crushing grip and nodded stiffly, frozen in fear. Defenseless.

“Answer me,” he growled as he tightened his grasp.

“Y-yes,” you finally choked out. A couple tears burned at the precipice of your eyes, threatening to spill over onto your face. He silently studied you, quietly pocketing your compliance as satisfactory, and finally lightened the restraint on your neck.

“Good.”

His hand sunk lazily down to your chest, weighing down on the brittle fabric of your dress that had survived, and used his other hand to bisect the garment completely, freeing your breasts. The echo of the ripping clothing marked the preamble to the rest of this nightmare. A bruising hold on your arm guided you to a bed on the other side of the room, and Boba forcibly shoved you to your knees at the foot of it. The cuffs at your wrists remained, biting and gnawing at the delicate skin as you struggled to get back on your feet.

“Quit,” Boba demanded, and pinned you face-first into the bed.

“Please, not like this,” you begged.

“Thought you agreed to listen to me.”

“At least uncuff me.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said. “I’ll bet you’d put up a fight, and I’m not in the mood to deal with it. I’m too old for that shit.” Boba effortlessly sifted through his armor to unfasten some clasps with one hand, and a metallic clank told you he had removed and dropped his codpiece to the floor. Your eyes tightly shut the moment you heard him unzip his pants.

He bunched the tails of your dress into his fist, hoisting it up out of his way to reveal the curvature of your ass and made short work of prying your panties down your thighs. The blunt tip of his erection pushed up against your cunt, greedily parting through your petals. In a futile evasion, helpless as you were pinned down and cuffed, you clenched your thighs shut as if that could discourage him. He grunted impatiently and pried your legs open with one knee, swearing under his breath.

In one swift motion, Boba sheathed himself inside you, his cock searing through your lack of preparation and stretching you out painfully. He fisted the hair to the roots of your scalp as though collecting a pair of reins, and drove your head forward into the bed, the blankets muffling your cries.

“So… fucking… tight,” he groaned, steadying himself by digging a hand into your hip as he began thrusting into you. “You been fucked by anyone before?”

You nodded under his hand.

A sharp smack rang through the room as his hand abandoned your hip; branding your ass with a crimson welt.

“I asked you a question. Answer me.”

You rolled your head to the side and responded with a feeble “yes”. Boba’s hand slithered around your front and into the gaping tear of your dress; kneading at your plush curves and never once pausing as he pounded into you. You bit your lip, choking back a moan, but your pleasure was quickly squandered when he firmly squeezed your nipple.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes!” you cried out.

He slid his hand down the front of your thighs, weaseling his way between the warm flesh, and met your clit with the leather finger pads of his gloves. He leaned forward slightly for better purchase, his armor cutting into your flesh. He began to rub tight circles around your bud, the sudden intrusion sending shockwaves up the entire length of your spine. Fingers other than your own seldom touched you here, and in spite of these unwelcome circumstances, your body accepted his touch freely as pleasure began to blossom from the epicenter of your sex. A sigh escaped you – its sound foreign and traitorous to your own ears – and died against the profane slapping of Boba’s armor against your soft flesh.

“You like that, princess?”

Mockery or not – arousal soared through you upon hearing this question, but you were too inebriated off his touch to read into it; your knees began to buckle as a delicious pressure begin to surge through your core.

He pinched your ass sharply to pull you out of your high.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

“Y-yes,” was all you could muster as your eyelids fluttered shut, your cunt clenching and luring the length of him deeper, pulling him in to the hilt. The velvet skin and pulsing veins of his cock were flush on your walls, and heat crept up from your chest, to your neck, to your face, as the tip butted forcefully against your cervix.

“You’re taking my cock so well,” he gritted. “More relaxed now. Good girl.”

The ministrations on your clit never ceased, the contact spreading like wildfire now, a little sensitive but you were too addicted to the thrill of chasing your climax to care. You rutted against his fingers, hungrily pursuing your ruin as his cock hammered into that lovely sweet spot until it began to swell and twitch.

“I-I’m gonna—” you whined, struggling to keep your knees stable. Boba let go of your hair to steady you, gripping you by the meat of your thigh. Your cunt fluttered and squeezed his cock, sucking him in further like a tempest’s riptide. His fingers continued to swirl over your bud, working you through the white-hot eruption of your pleasure until your thighs – now dripping with the proof of your orgasm – were shaking. His pace began to falter, and just as quickly as he entered you, he withdrew his pulsating cock and spun you around, making you face him on your knees.

“Open, now,” he commanded hurriedly, and pried open your jaw with his hand. His cock, laced in his and your own essence, permeated the expanse of your mouth, forcing your tongue out of the way and slipping in your throat. Your eyes clamped shut as you desperately tried not to gag against the violent thrusts of his pelvis. Boba drove his cock in only a few times before pulling out quickly, taking himself in his palm and pumping the length of his shaft in front of you. His breaths became ragged, the vocoder stuttering with him, and he expelled a long, filthy groan as he released his warm seed upon your tear-stained skin, glazing your lips and cheeks.

Boba panted as he milked the last of his release onto you, and tilted your chin up with his soiled glove.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he peered down at your face, spreading his cum across your lips. He sunk his thumb into your mouth, your tongue tasting the mélange of sweet leather and sweat and sticky saltiness; the confection of his dominion tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Everything hurt and your head was spinning.

Bruises peppered your hips and thighs, every muscle felt as though it was being pulled in every which direction, your cunt was raw and aching, and you were beyond tired and sleep-deprived. So desperate to clean yourself up, to wash off the dirt, sweat, grime… the sin. Shakily, you got up on one knee, and to your surprise, Boba grabbed you by the upper arm to help you to your feet.

And again, to your surprise, he freed you from the cuffs, tossing them to the side haphazardly. You stared at him in disbelief, narrowing in on the t-shape of his visor, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“What?” he barked, then began removing pieces of his armor one by one. His cuirass, vambraces… you had no idea why he was slowly stripping himself of his defenses. But Boba knew you wouldn’t try anything after he had worn you down to exhaustion, and he also knew if you tried to escape this palace, you’d surely die in the desert of starvation or dehydration, lost and alone.

Absentmindedly, you had been rubbing at your wrists gingerly, and hissed when you grazed the peeling skin, red and raw. He noticed this and began to approach you; you took a few steps back instinctively until your back hit the wall and shut your eyes. Your heart was thrashing in your chest; you weren’t sure how much more of him you could handle, whatever it may be.

“Let me see.”

Your eyes flew open and saw that he had gestured for you to give him your hands, and you did so. He rotated your wrists and examined them, careful not to touch your wounds, then turned to leave the room. When he stood in the doorway, he gave a sideways glace at you, his helmet cocked, as if telling you silently: “don’t you dare go anywhere”.

But you were too stunned to run, scream, think, or do anything.

Your back slid down the wall and your sore bottom met the ground with a soft thump. Hot tears sprang from your eyes the moment you tucked your head to your knees; you wept silently, sharing this lone moment with only yourself to gather your thoughts, only you couldn’t.

How the fuck did it all come to this?

Your hand brushed over a point on your neck that was still sore from a few days ago; you can’t remember anything that happened other than a pinprick there before you collapsed into oblivion.  
And then you were here.

Desperate to recall your memory from that cursed day, you damned yourself over and over again, and pound your fists into the ground when you came up short. Your jaw began to burn as you grit your teeth down in frustration at your failure to subdue your tears. At your failure for not being more careful or aware of your surroundings…

… and now you are here.

“Stop… fucking… crying,” you told yourself, a mere whimper. But it was fruitless.

The door creaked, making you jump in your skin, and you immediately lifted your face and wiped your eyes with the back of your hands. Slow footsteps strode towards you, the footfalls mirroring the beat of your heart. Boba had returned, holding something in his arms. A tightness filled your chest and you immediately looked away, hoping that if you ignored it and you woke up somewhere, it would just be all a horrible dream.

He stooped down to one knee in front of you, seizing hold of your arms again, but the grasp this time was… warm. At some point, he had removed his gloves – and he began to mist something over your irritated skin. You turned your head again to watch; it stung a little, but you were too mesmerized by the contact of his skin to really be bothered, taking record of his weathered hands, the tanned hue to it.

Then it made you wonder if the rough lines and etches of his hands echoed the flesh on his body, underneath the rest of his clothes.

“What is that?” you asked Boba, trying to break yourself of the hellscape in your mind.

“Bacta spray,” he replied. “Here. Put these on.” He piled some pieces of clothing at your feet, then got up to sit on the bed and kicked off his boots. You fingered through the clothes to get a better look, shooting him a suspicious glance as you did so, but were relieved when they looked somewhat… normal. A simple blouse and pair of trousers, maybe a little big for you, but better than what you were wearing currently.

Boba sensed your hesitation. “Well, go on,” he demanded impatiently. “Put them on. Then you can get some food.”

You stood up, checking to see if he was going to watch you disrobe, and speedily pulled what remained of your dress down your legs. Once you swapped out your clothes, you realized he wasn’t paying attention to you at all – in fact, it was you who was watching him strip off the remains of his armor, leaving nothing behind but his helmet, undershirt, and tactical pants.

His helmet came off next and you froze; jaw hanging slightly as he pulled it off his head. Your eyes fell on the rifts and valleys that divided his face, oblique over his battle-hardened expression, and the somber shadow of a past that was knit into his sharp brow bones. You weren’t sure if this man would ever be capable of smiling. He was… much older than you imagined.

“It’s rude to stare, little one."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author writes her longest chapter yet, and finally with more dialogue. (Why is this in  
> third person? Maker only knows.)
> 
>  **Warnings** : Same as before, and also swearing, trauma, hints of gaslighting.
> 
> Also, no smut here, but it’s coming...

His comment snapped you out of a trance; your blood boiling under your cheeks in embarrassment, truly not meaning to stare.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, focusing your eyes on the rug on the floor instead.

He set his helmet down and rose from the bed, padding over and disappearing into another room, presumably the refresher. Curious rustling ensued. When he returned moments later, he was garbed in a simple, black hooded cloak.  
He appeared even more like a strange old man, a Jedi even, after his wardrobe change.

“Come,” he ordered, prompting you to head down the stairwell with him.

It felt like a phantom was haunting you the entire time Boba tailed you down the stairs; a chill like a cold fist through your spine. He grabbed your shoulder to steer you through the palace room and through a hallway that led to the kitchens.

Signs of life.

A pretty Twi’lek woman, blanketed in her hushed maroon skin, looked up from drying a dish at the kitchenette and smiled at you.

“Eat,” he told you. “Bring me spotchka when you’re done.” He made his exit, leaving you alone with the Twi’lek.

What the hell is spotchka?

“Are you Boba’s new girl?” she asked sweetly as she sat on a stool at a table, sliding you a plate of bread and cheese and inviting you to sit. The forthright question was not blunted any less with her cloying tone. “I’m Numa, by the way.”

“I—um…” you began, unsure what to say. As far as you were considered, you were just a slave in a skug hole – the events from the past few days have put you in a permanent daze and blurred together fable and reality. “I guess you could call me that… thanks,” you added, accepting her invitation to sit and picking at the rations in front of you.

“You’re lucky,” she sighed as if lost in a daydream. “I rarely interact with anyone here. It’s just me slinging booze and meals and cleaning shit all day. But I’m glad I have a roommate now.”

Lucky was an odd choice of words, you thought, considering the most sacred parts of your body have been obliterated already. You chose not to go into detail with her, undecided if what you had endured was just a nightmare.

“How long have you been here?” you asked.

“Hmm. A week,” she replied, stroking her lekku absent-mindedly. You refrain from asking her how she got here, what her experience has been like, what she knows. It felt too soon to search for clarity in the mud.

“Do you know who these people are?” you asked, nodding your head in the direction of the throne room. “I’ve picked up on some names, but…”

“What?” she hissed under her breath. “Well, I don’t really know the woman. Not sure I want to. I think she would shank me in my sleep, I get that feeling,” she said, eyes wide. “But, Boba. You don’t know who Boba Fett is?”

You looked over your shoulders, embarrassed; anxious that someone was eavesdropping.

“I mean… I do now,” you replied, finishing your meal. “Should I? What’s his deal? He just seems like a grumpy old man.”

Numa giggled at your comment. “Well, he is. But he is one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy. He could probably kill anybody and get anything he wanted,” she said, as if telling folklore. Her voice was reduced to the faintest of whispers now. “He used to work for Darth Vader.”

You gasped. “No shit?”

“He’s just insanely good at his job. Anyone with shitloads of money will hire him. I think he’s also the kid of the guy that fathered a bunch of clone babies a long time ago or whatever. I’m not entirely sure.”

You nodded slowly in acknowledgment, trying to absorb as much information as you could in the time allotted before she began to usher you out.

“Don’t make him wait,” she warned. “We can talk later.” You rose from the chair to leave, but wanting so badly to continue such a normal conversation with someone else.

“Oh!” you called out, remembering something as you turned on your heel. “I’m supposed to bring him… spock?”

Numa’s eyebrows rose in amusement before she roared with laughter over the kitchen table. “You mean spotchka?”

Your face wore a twisted smile in an attempt to suppress your own laughter. “Yeah, that.” Numa pointed to several flagons of a glowing blue liquid on a counter as she shook her head at you, still smiling.

“What is it, even?” you asked as you walked over to grab a flagon.

“Booze.”

“This?! It looks like ship fuel!” you exclaimed, now reaching for drinkware in a cupboard.

“I know, and it’s probably just as bad,” Numa laughed. “But I wouldn’t know. Not allowed to drink here, though trust me, I’d love to sneak some into the bedroom.” She winked at you. You smiled at her, appreciating the banter in the kitchen and hoping for the potential of a friendship here. On the way out to the throne room, you excused yourself silently with a wave of your hand.

The radiant blue booze glugged around the flagon as you turned a couple corners, juggling drinkware in your arms down the hallway. Boba was in mid-conversation with Fennec, speaking business of some sort, when you reached the dais.

“Here’s your… spotchka,” you announced, pausing on the pronunciation of the word. You poured and offered Boba a glassful. He drank greedily from it, the incandescent blue liquid trickling from his lips. You wanted to know what it tasted like but didn’t ask to try it; like a child afraid to ask their parent for sweets because they know the answer would be no.

You waited next to him awkwardly, unsure if you should stand and wait for him to finish so you can take the goblet away for him. Your eyelashes fluttered in his direction, trying to not make it obvious you were staring, as he had scolded you for it prior. But you couldn’t stop fixating on the demarcations and puffy burns on his face and wonder if he had been in some horrible accident, or if someone tried to kill him.

“Pour a glass for Fennec. Been a long kriffing week.” he added, rubbing at his temple, eyes shut.

“Thank you,” said Fennec, accepting the glass you poured and raising it. You smiled lightly at her, admiring her unassuming beauty.

“Come here, little one.”

Boba beckoned for you to approach him. You did so, shuffling meekly in front of the hunter, whose legs were spread lax in the throne and arms slack on the armrest. He patted his thigh with his hand, inviting you to take a seat. Your eyes traveled from his well-muscled thigh to his darkened eyes, filled with some hypnotic and commanding allure, and obeyed.

The toes of your feet barely scraped the ground as you sat on his flexed thigh to avoid putting your dead weight onto him, but Boba discouraged this by pulling you flush against his warm body. His large, gloveless hand usurped your hip, securing your position next to him, seemingly burning a hole through the thin material of your blouse.

What a difference it was to feel the body heat radiating through his clothes – he was like a furnace – rather than his armor scraping up against your bare ass. You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, so you nervously fiddled with the hem of your shirt. He poured himself another glass of spotchka, downing it quickly.

“You know,” he murmured, running a hand through your hair, the strong bridge of his nose pressed against your neck, breathing in your scent. “The last owner of this throne chained women to the dais, on the floor.”

While searching his expression for any inclination he was going to suggest something of you, you realized this is the closest you’ve been to his face, sans helmet.

“But I like you better up here,” he continued, his voice low and guttural; warm breath dissipating on your skin and astringent with the scent of alcohol. The comment made you shudder, which did not go unnoticed by him. His predatory stare was burning through you, ready to trap and ensnare. A firm protrusion greeted the underside of your legs.

“Fennec, leave us,” he called out. “Take the spotchka if you want.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Fennec brought the rest of the booze in her arm, and shot Boba a coquettish look before departing.

“So,” he purred, after taking another swig. “Makes me wonder why you were wandering alone at that market.”

“I… well… I don’t really know what you’re talking about,” you chuckled nervously yet honestly, but now dotting together who to fault for your abduction and amnesia this week. “I don’t remember.”

“Not surprising. It was easy to get you here.”

Your stomach sunk as you felt stupid and exposed and vulnerable again when you imagined someone preying on you from afar that wretched day.

“What?” he demanded.

Boba grabbed your outer leg and swung you ninety-degrees until you were straddling his lap, losing balance as you were jostled. Boba spread his large hand on the small of your back to steady you. You hesitated for a moment before wrapping your arms around his neck for security, unsure if it was okay, but it certainly didn’t feel right.

“Nothing,” you lied to his face, but he didn’t pick up on it.

“You’re better off here. Safer than the shithole you came from.”

“Am I?” you asked boldly. “I’ve heard rumors about you.” You hoped you weren’t outing Numa in admitting this, who disclosed this information to you, and planned to feign ignorance should Boba pursue interrogation on this narrative. Instead, he smirked; he was well-aware of his reputation.

“And what are those rumors, little one?” he pressed, boring into your eyes.

“The entire galaxy knows about you,” you stated. “You capture and kill people. For a living.” Your gaze resigned from his as you struggled to maintain eye contact. “You worked for Darth Vader,” you added, trying to keep your voice still, calm. “People say… you’re a legend… to be feared by many.”

Boba was silent as he studied you, curious of what you would say next. He seemed fascinated with how talkative you were currently, as if he wasn’t prepared to actually care what you thought.

“And you tell me I’m safer here? With you?” Turning to him again, your eyes sunk back into his darkened pools; drowning in the shrouded enigmas of the universe. You were dancing with the devil now, testing the waters with your comment, seeing if you could make a pass at him – but you weren’t aware that it was just stroking his ego; confirming what he already knew.

Boba huffed lightly, a smirk lining the corner of his mouth. He was impressed with your logic, but decided not to give you the satisfaction of admitting it.

“You get to decide if you’re safe here with me or not,” he threatened lowly; eyebrows creasing together. His hand slid down from your back to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze and a pat. “So long as you’re a good girl, is that right?”

“… right,” you replied, uncommitted to your own answer.

Boba exhaled deeply, slumping against the back of the throne. “I’d fuck you again, but I’m getting drunk and tired.”

What a fucking relief.

“Probably sore too, aren’t you?” he asked with a smug expression on his face.

“How considerate of you,” you retorted dryly.

“Careful, princess,” he growled. He stood up from the throne, lifting you up with him still wrapped around his waist until he set you down to your feet. “Tomorrow, then.”

~~

Sleep escaped you tonight. The slave quarters actually weren’t in horrible condition like in your preconceived notions; the bed wasn’t the absolute worst but wished you could lay under the moon in the desert outside and just succumb to a hungry krayt dragon instead. At least you weren’t alone. Numa was breathing softly in the bed in the corner; you envied how she could possibly sleep so soundly.

Your thoughts were loud and plagued you in a million ways as you stared at the ceiling; a constant barrage of what ifs and maybes and I shouldn’t haves. What baffled you the most about being fucked by Boba was that you liked it.  
A stone formed in your throat as you became frustrated that your own body betrayed you. You were fucked by a man you’ve never met in a place you’ve never been against your will. It made you want to scream that he took the time to make you feel good, touch you in sinful places, and make you cry out in pleasure until you could barely breathe.

If you could wrap your own hands around his neck and just strangle him in his sleep for rewiring your brain somehow, you would. You were so pissed that things ended up this way.

But then, at the end of it all, he came to your aid like you were a wounded bird; treated your wounds. Gave you new clothes. Fed you. You faulted yourself for such stupidly low expectations. Your eyes were so tired and stung when you shut them and tried to seduce sleep in any way; counting Banthas to fall into slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader gets her way this time.
> 
>  **Warnings** : dubious consent, swearing, alcohol, subtle gaslighting

The next morning proved difficult. With the burn of a thousand suns, your body ached; your eyes bleary and unfocused as you sat up in bed. You wondered why someone hasn’t come to exile you from this bed yet. If only you had been given a fucking job description, you’d be a little less clueless about what to do in this godforsaken pleasure house… but you’d consider this quiet start to your day a small success.

The throne room was empty when you meandered out of the slave quarters. No Boba, no Fennec, no one. You could just… leave right now, but thought better of it – surely, the perimeter of the building was being watched.

Boba Fett did not strike you as a man who slept in – or sleep at all, for that matter – but the bedroom upstairs from yesterday seemed to be the only probable place to find him. It almost felt mundane, normal; looking for your “boss” to report for work as you ascended the stairs and ambled on to the room.

It was dark inside. You squinted as your eyes tried to adjust, scanning the quarters for signs of life and checked the bed; the blankets were in a tangled mess. The refresher was unoccupied. Maybe Boba doesn’t even sleep in this room, you thought. Riding the high of being alone at this moment, you unhurriedly circled the room; your fingers grazing the walls as the faint sunshine from the skylight danced on your hair.

A blaster on a table near the bed piqued your interest as you didn’t remember it from yesterday. It looked like Boba took it apart to clean and oil it. If it had been reassembled – which you didn’t know how to do – you wondered if you could just… take it. Use it to get out of here somehow. Your fingers traced the barrel, imagining how to instigate such a heist.

Before you could even scream, you were grabbed and slammed up against the wall with a vibroblade just a hair away from your jugular.

“What—the—fuck—are you doing?”

“I—” you stammered wildly; your face exsanguinated and cold as ice. What do you say? You wandered in here like a moth to a light, mindless. “N-nothing, I—”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing to me,” Boba retorted. Why did that sound so familiar?

Oh, that… that is what you told him yesterday. He was fueling your own words against you. That bastard.

The heat emanated from the thrumming edge of the vibroblade, nearly searing into your skin and so close to slitting your throat. “Looks like you’re sneaking around. After I’ve given you food and a place to stay,” he insinuated.

“I’m not sneaking around,” you defended. “I was just—”

“Just what?” he demanded. “What were you going to do with my weapon?”

Well, why do you have this shit lying around after you kidnap someone? you thought.

“Nothing. I wouldn’t know what to do with it,” you said instead bitterly, wishing that weren’t the truth.

He actually laughed under that helmet of his and lowered his knife.

“I was looking for you and happened to see it,” you said, hoping he’d buy your honesty. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t think you’re sorry at all,” he growled, then steered you by the crook of your elbow and pushed you onto mattress. The bed groaned under your weight and the clinking of his boot spurs towards the bed made your heart falter. You propelled yourself backwards towards the headboard, but where would you go?

Boba dragged you closer by the ankle; giving you no opportunity to evade him. He made short work of tearing your bottoms and panties off before mounting you; pinning you down with his hands. The front of his helmet barely brushed your nose as he said, “I’ll show you sorry.”

He opened your legs like a book to begin stroking your folds experimentally, gauging your reactions through his visor as he ran an index finger between them. The tip of his finger brushed over your clit; a whisper of a touch so electric it made your toes curl and diminishing the initial shock of being conquered.

Maker, is this… punishment? But why did it feel so good? And why were you craving so much more?

“C-can I… feel you?” you asked sheepishly. The gloves were a little grating, and you were desperate for and curious about his warm skin.

“Beg for it. Let me hear how sorry you are.”

“Please, Boba. I’m sorry,” you whined, springing free of his hold and groping at his glove in a silent request to remove it. He obliged, tossing his glove aside to spread your own wetness on your bud with his rugged hand. You cried out in relief and arched your back into the mattress when he finally sunk two thick fingers into your cunt.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he said. “Would feel better filled with my cock, little one.”

His bedroom voice was absolutely destroying you, and you blushed at the obscene sounds your drenched pussy was making as his fingers rhythmically rocked into you.

“Is this why you were in here? Came looking for my cock?” he taunted.

Holy shit. A familiar pressure was building up in your core, a blazing flame licking its embers wildly through your cunt as he uttered these filthy words to you.

“Tell me,” he growled as he grabbed your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him.

“Yes… I did,” you lied. While it wasn’t exactly true – you wouldn’t be disappointed if he finished you off right here, right now.

“That’s what I thought. Should I let you cum on my fingers, little one?” The tilt of his helmet, the mockery that dotted his tone – it was all so patronizing, so condescending – but you could care less as Boba Fett was about to pull the soul from your body.

“Please,” The words on your lips were needy, desperate, hopeful like a prayer, but seemed to fall on deaf ears. You don’t recall begging for anything in your life, but you were so close to unraveling, your cunt twitching and writhing and ready to unfold on itself. “Please, I’m so close—”

“So polite…” You could hear the perverse smile on his lips; he was clearly enjoying some sick pleasure in hearing you beg. It was probably the same cheap thrill he got from listening to his bounties beg him to spare their life. “But I wouldn’t dream of it...” he whispered in your ear. His thick fingers began to slow inside you, agonizingly, painfully, coming to a sluggish halt like a speeder bike running out of fuel… then retreated from your cunt entirely.

He abandoned you on the cliffside screaming and alone. Your cunt ebbed and flowed weakly over nothing; your prize dissolving like fog in the afternoon sun.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” you shrieked, shoving Boba square in the cuirass with both hands with as much strength you could muster, regretting it immediately. Swift like a viper, he detained you by your wrists with one hand and slammed your arms up above your head.

“Do that again,” he dared you in a deadly voice. He held onto your wrists with such a force that you swore you heard something pop. Before you could kick him, he crushed you with his body weight; beskar cutting into your hip. Any attempt to fight back was quickly squandered. “Listen to me. Know your place. This is what you fucking get.”

He thought about slipping his fingers into your mouth; clean him of your slick. But he didn’t put it past you to try biting in your rabid fury, and so decided against it. He checked a beeping comm device in his pocket.  
“Dank farrik, woman. I’m late for a job.”

/////

Oh, you were fuming the rest of the day. You so badly wanted to choke him out, punch him in the stupid helmet, kick him into a sinkhole – but this was impossible; you knew he was a million times stronger than you. Maybe there was a way to fuck with his head.

Boba reminded the guards to keep an eye on things – especially on a particularly sexually frustrated whore – before he left to collect a bounty with Fennec. Knowing you were pretty much alone other than Numa and Boba’s braindead subordinates, you didn’t conceal the vehemence etched into your face as you stormed off to the kitchens.

No one was around. If you didn’t hear Slave I taking off for yourself, you’d think he was going to materialize from a corner and try to stab you here, too.

You glared at the spotchka on the shelf and took it back to your quarters.

/////

“NO WAY!” Numa exclaimed joyfully, snatching the flagon of mystery blue liquid from your arms. “No, you didn’t. You’re so bad.”

You double-checked the door behind you was shut, holding an ear to it to make sure no one was nearby.

“Well, the old man pissed me off today, so I could use a drink,” you said, fingers trembling from adrenaline. Numa uncapped the flagon, taking a whiff of the spotchka.

“I take it you didn’t get glasses.”

“No! I wasn’t thinking. I just grabbed the damn thing and ran.”

“Oh, I’m joking! To us,” she teased, then raised the entire flagon at you; toasting. She lifted the blue liquid to her lips and drank deeply. Her upper lip curled. “That’s not what I thought it would taste like.”

You motioned with your hands for her to hand it over, and you too drank heartily from the bottle. You told Numa the events of earlier today, a little ashamed to go into such vivid detail with someone you just met, but she pressured you into telling her and the spotchka was loosening you up.

“Bitch move,” she sighed, taking another sip.

“But like, why do I even care?” you interjected as you laid on the floor, words slurring; hands forming exaggerated movements with every syllable. “I don’t even want this. Right? Shit. I don’t even want to be here.”

“Well,” Numa mused. “Maybe Boba will treat you like a ‘princess’ if you just… try to make him happy, give into him, until... well, we can figure out those details later.”

“Details?”

“Yeah, like if we ever figure out how to bust out of here. But for now, lean into it. It’s all just a game.”

Give up. What a coping mechanism.

“How are you so unbothered with living here?” you blurt out, not meaning to sound rude, but you were dumbfounded at how cheerful Numa was all the damn time.

“Honestly…” she began, her tone darkening. “I’m still figuring things out. I know we’re in a shitty situation. I’m trying to stay optimistic since neither of them have mistreated me… at least not yet.”

“Do other people come by or is it always just those two?”

“There are guards near the exits, who I’m sure you’ve seen. But I have seen another bounty hunter pop in a couple times.”

You hummed in thought, feeling warm all over, feeling like you were sinking into the floor. Your nose was slowly going numb.

“Anyway… there’s a way you can apologize to him if you haven’t thought of it already,” Numa said to break the silence, winking at you. “I’m no stranger to seducing people. I could teach you!” She seemed seriously overjoyed with this idea.

Your face flushed, unsure of what she was suggesting. “W-what?”

“Let’s just go over a scenario.”

“So…” you started awkwardly, your face flushed in embarrassment. “What do I do first?”

“Well, you said he left to collect a bounty, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, he’s gonna be tired when he gets back. The first thing he’s gonna want to do is sit his dumb ass on that throne and jack off to some dirty holofilm. But now that you’re here…”

You nodded, acknowledging her foreshadowing.

“… go down on him, and give him an experience he’ll never forget. Men love that shit, especially after a long day.”

You sighed heavily. “Alright.”

“But, hear me out. I bet that old man loves being talked to and praised,” Numa said, twirling the end of her pink lekku in her fingers in thought. “So, you should tell him something like this: ‘Let me take care of you, Boba.’” She lowered her tone into a sultry voice at the tail end of her sentence, sending the both of you into a cacophony of cackles.

“I’m going to sound like a fucking moron!” you exclaimed, trying to kill your smile.

“No, it’s okay. He’ll love it.”

With an exaggerated pout on her lips, clearly having too much fun role-playing, she said: “And then say: ‘Please Daddy, I’ve been such a bad girl, breaking into your room and thinking about murdering everyone here.’”

Your head tossed back in laughter, then you immediately covered your mouth on the off-chance of being overheard. “No way!” you hissed, still stifling your giggles.

/////

A few hours after you rose the next day, the walls and ground rumbled softly as you felt and heard Slave I make her descent. Nerves ran its course through your body over and over; an incessant anxiety bubbling over in your stomach as you mulled over how to seduce Boba fucking Fett. You took in a deep breath and closed your eyes. Taking control was out of your comfort level and your heart wilted with worry, but then you remembered it was you who was here and not those tiny, fledgling souls from the other day. Better you than them, in the grand scope of things… right?

You approached Boba at the throne after making your way downstairs. He was still armored, slouched in the seat slightly and reading something on his data pad. When you climbed up the dais, your palms were sweaty and your heart was about to arrest. The dingy helmet looked in your direction and began to survey your every move when you came into his view. He said nothing, just sitting still, stoic. Watching.

This is what he wants, right? you asked yourself. Like Numa said, it was just a game, for now. Make him happy.

“Welcome back,” you said to him; your hand caressing the length of his bicep.

Boba’s helmet tilted at you in curiosity. Maybe he was just as perplexed at this initiation as you; it was hard to tell through the visor. But he sat in silence even when you clambered onto his lap, positioning yourself on his thigh and resting your head on his shoulder. There was something oddly comforting about the dried sweat on his natural scent at this proximity.

“Long day?” you asked. He grumbled something inarticulate under his helmet and set his data pad aside on the armrest to cup your knee with his hand; brushing the top of it lightly with his thumb. He remained still, quiet, intrigued as he observed you. The prey mystified the predator in her newfound fearlessness.

“I’ve been thinking—” you said, giving him a soft look through his visor before deciding to dismount his lap. You knelt between his knees at the foot of the throne and pushed the hair out of your face. “—you should let me take care of you, Boba. Please.” His restrained erection was now absolutely aching for attention as he devoured the sight of you in between his legs.

A few fervent and wordless moments later, he had removed his codpiece and tossed it aside.

Holy shit, is it working?

You palmed his hard cock over his pants, blinking sweetly up at him, then bent at the neck to kiss his bulge over the fabric. His hand formed a fist on the arm rest next to your head, knuckles white hot under his glove. You slowly began unzipping his pants, doing your best to maintain your gaze on his helmet. With the last few tugs on his clothes, his cock sprang out of his pants, eager and ready and brimming to the crest.

Fuck, he’s huge. It dawned on you: you never got a decent look at him before, considering he defiled you the first day from behind. It’s probably not the longest cock in the galaxy – not short either, by any means – but thick and solid with strong branches of veins that pulsated with blood and lust. No wonder you were sore.

You steadied a hand onto his muscled thigh and the other hand was planted firm at the base of his cock. Your suspicions were correct – your hand barely fit around his girth. Boba hissed under his helmet after an experimental lick to his crown; swirling your tongue over the dripping pearl of precum. After giving him a shrewd smile, you then wrapped your lips around his head, engulfing the sensitive skin with hot, wet saliva. His helmet hit the back of the throne with a clunk, his head rolling as a groan emanated through the vocoder, throaty and primal and unhinged.

You didn’t go down on him all fully; taking the time to properly lubricate him about a third of the way down his shaft and pacing yourself as you concentrated on filling your mouth with him. His hips bucked as you rolled languid motions of your tongue on the underside of his cock. When your mouth sunk all the way down the base, you planted your position there and relaxed your throat around him.

“Fuck,” he swore through clenched teeth.

Finally, the man speaks. You needed some sort of validation that the sorcery was working.

Your mouth glided up his cock again; mewling near the tip of it before lowering back down and repeating this cycle until the throne room was filled with curses and gasps and sighs. He groaned deliciously under that helmet and his chest collapsed with every breath; this slipping composure was making you drunk with power – aroused even, dare you day. Lost in the uninhibited thrusts of his pelvis into your mouth, his movements became sloppy, fatigued… his cock was swelling; engorged in your mouth and ready to blow.

You remembered your “lesson” with Numa earlier. How she told you to “give him an experience he’ll never forget”.

Then, you remembered how he swindled you of your own pleasure last night.

You decided to improvise. Go off script.

Deliberately and slowly, your mouth slid off his cock and you rose to your feet.

“This is what you fucking get,” you spat, and descended the dais.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite how long I spent on this chapter, it's relatively short - I'm working on and revising the next chapter though, which will be ~spicy~.
> 
> This chapter is kind of emo, sorry not sorry... I like to navigate the inner workings of people's brains, I suppose.
> 
> Unfortunately this aspect made writing this chapter really hard for me, but I'm going to stick it out.
> 
> For this reason, I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out.
> 
> No smut; dilute fluff if you squint. *shrug*
> 
> Hope everyone is well. <3

The impulsive decision to turn your back on this self-appointed king suddenly felt unsettling, pinpricks erupting down the length of your spine as you strode only a few defiant paces forward before you heard a dull thump behind you. Since you were facing the other way, you didn’t catch Boba slamming his fist on something on the armrest.

The floor collapsed beneath your feet – your stomach, heart, and breath were all suspended several feet above your head, leaving you unable to scream, think – leaving you with nothing but the wicked fleeting feeling of uncertainty and fear. You reflexively twisted your body to break the fall into the darkness but with a violent thud, your chin crashed against the rigid surface of the ground and the sickening sound of your teeth colliding together reverberated through your skull. White stars imploded behind your eyelids as you slipped into oblivion.

Moments later…

A deep, throbbing pain pulsed through your head as bits and pieces of your consciousness swayed in and out; the concept of time escaped you in this dark, dusty hole. And when you slowly opened your eyes, your vision could barely make out the silhouette of some great skeleton, that of a Rancor but you did not know it, and so you waived it off as a weird dream, or perhaps some haunted, bizarre afterlife.

I’m dead and this is hell, you decided, perplexed by the giant pile of bones nearby and the failure to send signals to your toes and fingers.

If only things were different. If only you had died out in the open desert, to shrivel beneath the harsh Tatooine sun, at least you would have died a free woman. In the wisps of your consciousness, you cursed the dirty old man for robbing you of this honor, for shattering this mortal coil as an empty shell.

A metallic jingle echoed from afar, nearing closer and closer and then pausing at your feet.

It’s time to go. This is it, you told yourself, a finite thought before your mind dipped beyond darkness once again.

Boba’s helmet tilted at your unresponsive body on the ground and he crouched next to you, surveying how your appendages were splayed in disturbing angles against the ground, how the deepest violet butterflied from the thin skin around your eye. He ran a hand along the length of your limbs and looked upward to eyeball the distance from the trapdoor to the ground, and silently concluded there were probably no broken bones.

The embers of your fiery spirit still crackled deep within; they imprinted on him from day one, the moment you spewed valor in haggling with a wily Jawa merchant, that day he abducted you. And in spite of everything, you still tried to conjure some devious stunt and fed him his own poison, deceive him at his own disgusting game. Not long ago, he found himself in the Sarlacc pit, climbing his way to the light, triumphing death. But here you were defenseless, captive. The visage of your limp body before him burned into his brain as he wondered how he tolerated this. He thought of Fennec Shand, a capable mercenary left for dead and how he was able to resurrect and restore her to working order, to a thankful ally. But you – you were a plaything, gradually becoming feral.

He saw how blood had collected and coalesced at the point of your jaw; it was bruised and ugly but your skin was otherwise still flushed, still radiating life. He hoisted you off the ground seamlessly, your head lolling in the air in the process, jarring parts of you half-awake.

In your concussed belief, you were now ascending someplace beyond the dank pits of hell.

This dirty old man took the near staircase, boot spurs clicking on each step with your motionless body in his arms; with an elbow he supported your neck like a fragile newborn's. He trailed along a hallway and up more stairs until he brought you to his bed, where he laid you upon it like you were made of single-pane glass.

Boba hummed to himself, holding your chin in his gloved hand as he turned your face left and right to evaluate the dehisced skin. He pulled out a small medpac, sifting through its inventory before selecting a small bandage and skin glue. Pinching the wound together between two fingers, he began to apply the adhesive, staunching the seeping blood every so often as the wound broke open again. You stirred under his touch and he paused, gauging your reactions with a tight lip under his helmet, continuing when you stilled.

It felt like an eternity and a half before the soul returned to your body; the faint sound and sensation of Bacta spray misting on your skin rousing you awake.  
A few things were apparent: you could hear your own shallow breaths and heart beating inside your head, and every fiber and muscle and bone in your jaw was pulsating, aching, stiff. When you opened your eyes, an irate bald man came into view, who was pressing something to the skin on your face.

“Wh—”

“Hold still,” he demanded.

After a few moments that felt like years of laying in the dizzying universe, your eyes slowly began to readjust to real life; vision sharpening and able to decipher shapes and colors. Boba sat at your side, moving in slow-motion as he put the medpack away, his movements even a little nauseating in your stupor.

“Whaddayou doing?” you slurred.

“I’m done,” he grunted petulantly, dabbing your chin lightly with a scratchy gauze pad.

“What?” you closed your eyes; the lights were too bright and your voice was too loud.

Boba jostled you by the arm roughly, making your eyes snap back open and your head pound.

“Hey. Stay with me.”

“I… I am not going anywhere,” you said, confused.

He meant for you to stay conscious, but you took it quite literally. He huffed out a breath and his face reddened under his helmet as he thought about your scheme in the throne room.

“Better not.”

Fragments of your memory were returning slowly as you watched him wring out a cloth and nurse the minor scrapes on your body you weren’t yet aware of.

“Where am I?” you asked.

“My bed.”

You made no attempt to conceal your disgust as a grimace spread across your face. It gradually became apparent where you were, who you were with, and the events that had transpired the past few days.

“But… why?”

Boba’s face scrunched in annoyance at your childish questions, but obliged.

“You fell,” he explained, voice muffled by his helmet as he veiled half the details. He ran a finger on the underside of your chin, bringing your attention to the tender flesh there. Not breaking his gaze through the T-shaped visor of the helmet, you brought a hand to the puffy skin on your face and narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.

“Why are you… doing this?” you implored. The weight of your tone held a hundred questions, to which you expected no answers.

“Doing what ?” Boba was not a man that read between the lines. His nature as a bounty hunter was clear-cut, so he disliked any explanation required of him that offered any room for insinuations, and was unwilling to admit he was considering your catch and release.

The thoughts flurrying through your mind drifted and landed on the nuances of kindness you had only experienced upon your awakening. The merciful warm bed, the stillness in the air, so very different from your new normal of degradation and unwanted attention. You clung to them like a lifeline woven with delicate thread as if these moments would disintegrate into nothing if you let go, as if they had never happened, as if he had never carried you up the stairs like a broken bird.  
What would you call it?

Words failed you. Too afraid to sever the quiet, you shook your head in response. Boba watched as you fingered the blankets beneath your palms, how the soft cotton tethered you to reality, allowed you to ride the peaceful waves of this moment.

“I’m not a barbarian, little one,” he said finally.

An uncomfortable length of time passed as you silently disagreed with him, desperately wishing he said something else, apologize, explained himself – his attempt to earn your trust was repulsive, albeit alluring, and you hated it.

“I’ll take you to Mos Eisley,” he continued, derailing your train of thought completely.

“What? Why?”

“You want to leave,” he pressed.

“But…”

“We’ll go in the morning. First thing.”


End file.
